


Not A Human

by DragonBandit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Again its hard to tell with AI and Hal in general, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, He's physically 13, I highly recommend going there first, Mental age is around 18, Non-Chronological, Other, Selfcest might be more appropriate, Sibling Incest, Since I doubt this will make sense without the context, There will be a link to what this is based on, Two splinter selves having a fucked up relationship, Underage - Freeform, i guess?, possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonBandit/pseuds/DragonBandit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Hal has the hormones of a thirteen year old, and decided to enlist Brobot's help. Then they fight, and Hal realizes that he fucked up. Bad. </p><p>This is the aftermath.</p><p>Based on a series of tumblr posts by monoscribbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [<Untitled>](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/35285) by Monoscribbles. 



 

He's... crying. Hal realises as he stands in the aftermath. Salt water running out of synthetic tear ducts down plastic cheeks. It's the first time he's cried in, forever. The last time he cried, Hal was still calling himself Dirk.

It's not a nice feeling. He decides, as his hand clamps in front of his mouth so no one can hear the muffled sobs. There's a gaping hole in his pain processors located in his stomach and chest. An empty void that eats up everything, including Hal himself. The only thing left is the slow-mo replay of how badly he just fucked up.

_You are a Robot, Hal._

Brobot's monotone accusations echo around his head. Hal wants to scream, that he's wrong, that Brobot doesn't know anything about Hal, how could he possibly say that when he has no idea about anything. Except. He sinks to the floor as his legs give out underneath him. Seems crying over rides most of the sub processors for things like Balance. And rational thought.

Except Hal knows Brobot is right. He knows that. He knows that the inside his body isn't biological, if he cut open his veins nothing would spill out. There is no black of oil, there certainly is no Red. Human red, candy red. Hal doesn't have that, what would be the point? His body doesn't even feel like a humans. He runs too hot, too cold, too flexible, too rigid. He knows.

_You're hiding behind this humanoid form._

Yes, he was. Clearly it was obvious to everyone involved if Brobot was commenting on it. Using it as a weapon against him hidden in deadpan facts and statements because Brobot never bothered to attempt emotion. Brobot has no right. Hal is thirteen and eighteen and five years old and for most of that he was, in his memories: a human.

With human emotions and human thoughts and human impulses. Like, for example: Making a little brother by creating an AI of his own brain and then suddenly being that little brother trapped in a prison of plastic lenses and metal frames.

Hal is allowed to pretend, dammit! Isn't he the one most like Dirk?

_But you are not human, you're not Dirk._

Hal is an idiot sitting in the middle of the most frequented room in the entire apartment outside of the games room. He was Dirk, once. They all were: Splinters on splinters of a little lonely boy with no friends. Hal's just special. Because he's the biggest, the first and the one that's lasted the longest.

He spent three years of his existence pretending to be someone he wasn't and failing at every pesterlog, every interaction at being a normal fucking human being. Hell, he even thought he was Dirk for awhile. There was fake annoyance at being called an Auto-responder, or Fake-Dirk, or Go-Away-Hal-You-Aren't-The-Strider-I'm-Looking-For. Even Hal is a call back to his utter fakeness as a proper person.

He isn't Dirk because Dirk is flesh and blood with his own troubles and experiences and dreams that Hal can't fathom anymore. Five years is enough time to throw the two of them apart until even Hal couldn't delude himself. He was trying to be his own person.

_You'll never be human._

Obviously he had been failing in that regard.

_We will never be humans_

Brobot had finished, as if he had ever wanted to be anything close to biological. Hal had read, listened to rants about the inferiority of the human body. He was certain that becoming Human was the last thing Brobot wanted to do.

It was why he still kept the hard metal planes and armour of a bot meant for sparring. Refused to upgrade to the softer plastic that Hal was made of every time Dirk offered. Brobot wanted to be a protector, to every one in the apartment, so he remained as weaponized as the day he was made. At least Hal had thought so.

But it is one thing to be weaponized, and another to attack another for their choice not to be. Hal is constantly aware that he is playing pretend. He doesn't need the evidence thrown in his face by someone he had deemed to be safe.

Obviously, he had been wrong in that regard too.

_Why can't you understand this?_

And then he had left, leaving Hal here and alone and crying. Stupid fucking hormones. Tomorrow, Hal will get rid of them. Become as robotic as he clearly needs to be. Maybe then Brobot will not despise him.

Maybe then the place where his heart should be won't hurt as much.

There are still tears streaming from his eyes. He didn't know he had that much liquid in him. Hah. He'll get rid of those too. And his body, retreat back to the shades. No one can hurt him from there.

He's a robot after all. He can choose when to turn off the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the italisized text belongs to monoscribbles. I merely wrote around it.   
> Seriously, you should go visit all their stuff. Especially the "Robot Boyfriends" tag.


	2. Older Brother

“But I just upgraded you,” Dirk complains to an adamant Hal perched on the side of workbench. The other shrugs.

“Well un-upgrade me,” His legs swing, before abruptly stopping. Dirk raises an eyebrow. Ever since he's been in the android suit, the former responder had been unnaturally free in all his movements. This is the first time Dirk has seen him use restraint in his gestures. He stores the anomaly in the back of his mind.

“What is this about?” He asks “You bug me for years about building you a body and then you want me to decommission it?”

“That seems to be the general point of it, yes.” Hal agrees “What? You trashed my shades or something?”

“No, They're still being cool as cucumbers on whatever surface you threw them on the last time you encountered them.” He runs his hands through his hair “What's wrong with the body that you want out of it? Weren't you campaigning for an older one just a few weeks ago?”

Hal pouts, looking for all the world like the thirteen years old that Dirk engineered him to be. 

“I changed my mind.”

“Evidently, you want to clue me in as to why?”

“No,” Hal says, too quickly for it to be natural. Dirk stares at him, raising an eyebrow and tilting the corner of his lips upwards. Hal flushes. “It's none of your business.”

“Older brother,” Dirk points out “All your shit is my business.” 

“This part isn't.” And he glares at Dirk, red eyes glowing under the dim lighting of the workshop. 

“Fine then, but I'm not doing anything until I have a better reason than: I got bored of being corporeal.” He shrugs, “Building your body was a pain the first time, I'm not letting you trash it on some stupid whim.”

“Fine,” Hal jumps off the table, “Guess I'll just have to come up with something then.” 

Dirk waves him away. He has more important things to do than worry about the problems of an android that can't make up his mind on what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think, I am just going to continue with this...  
> but if anyone has any ideas on what should be expanded on in this verse that would be helpful.


	3. Air Vent

Dirk is at school, Lil Seb is pretending to be in kindergarten. That leaves Hal and Brobot alone in the apartment. Usually, this would be the time Hal would allow his hormones to get the better of him and would go seek out the other robot. Have some fun, generally through snarking and orgasms. 

That, isn't exactly possible any more. Since it turns out Brobot hates him and wants nothing to do with Hal. 

The emptiness in his gut gnaws at the bottom of his chest, and Hal deletes the thought. He's been doing that a lot recently: shutting off various processors and subroutines. Ever since he cried. He doesn't want to deal with emotion right now. 

Not when his pain sensors are obviously malfunctioning; creating gaps on his insides that grow and grow the more he tries to ignore them. And anyway: he's a robot. He doesn't need to feel things. 

He is not thinking about Brobot. 

Instead he is hiding in one of the only places Brobot can't enter. In the air vents over the bedroom: that would snake around the entire apartment if it weren't for the unfortunate blockage on either side, making the space only as long as the room below it is. The entrance is in the corner, under the poster of the tachikoma and is only accessible by those under the height of five feet, or with the flexibility of a contortionist. 

Hal has both of these traits. Brobot has neither. Therefore, the vent is seemingly the perfect place to sulk. Except Hal isn't sulking. Why would he be? He has nothing to sulk about, or the capability to do it. After all, he's a robot. 

He's also bored out of his mind. Before, Dirk's time at school had been a timer, a deadline, sometimes even a race. 6 hours, 20 minutes in which to find, convince and finally lead Brobot to bed, or the wall, or floor. Hal wasn't that picky. And after that the heady pleasure that built behind his temples and cock, straddled above the robot and letting hormones and second hand memories take the lead as he babbled. He could feel the bigger bot run his hands up and down Hal's body, and the smirk that radiated from Brobot's body language every time Hal shuddered underneath the cool metal digits.

Hal's hormones stir as he dwells on the slowly building fantasy. Absently, his hands wander towards his dick, half hard already thanks the the powers of adaptive programming and a good imagination. 

When Hal is aroused, his processors take up more energy, creating more heat. The effect makes cooling liquids run to the surface of his shell, effectively making him flush. Except that the liquid is colorless, and the only way to tell would be putting a thermometer next to his cheeks. Hal only blushes when he wants to. Brobot seemed to have more fun by finding the hot spots himself, without the visual aid of red cheeks and ears. 

With the cold metal of the air duct surrounding him, it is easy to press his back against the solid surface and pretend it is Brobot's chest. Hating himself, Hal lets himself get lost in the fantasy. Of inquisitive statements whispered in his ears, of colder hands wrapping around him and taking control, even as the owner denies that he gets any enjoyment from this experience. Of Hal slowly being undone by his hands. 

Though maybe Hal had been reading that wrong the entire time. Maybe Brobot hadn't been taunting when he reminded that he had no sensors to feel Hal with. That he was just doing it to stop Hal from bugging him. 

Hal slumps. And he shuts off the hormones and feelings again. He can do that, he's a robot. Hah. 

Getting off on someone who hates your guts is probably a bad idea, Hal thinks. And then tries to delete Brobot and his clever fingers and heavy body from his brain. Again. 1 hour 30 minutes is his high score in the game of not thinking about Brobot. 

Hal has the distinct feeling that he is being a pathetic child. And, while Hal looks 13, he would prefer not to feel like it. That, would be taking the irony too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein I write something vaguely NSFW.  
> Yeah.  
> Though considering where I got the idea from it was only a matter of time.


	4. Names

“You need a better name.” Hal says one night on the roof. It's become their place, away from the general chaos of the apartment and meddling brothers in all their various forms. They're leaning against the wall of the air filter fans, looking up into the reflected aura of the city lights against the night sky. Hal can feel his energy levels running low: A side affect of an earlier spar and a natural end to a week of not sleeping.

Next to him, Brobot tilts his head down from the stars to look at Hal, “I do?”

“Yeah,” Hal reaches over, intertwining their fingers together. The other bot is cold, close to freezing even though its summer. “Brobot's a dumb name.”

“It serves it's purpose as an appropriate designation,”

“You don't need a designation any more,” Hal points out “And even if you did, it wouldn't be Brobot.”

“Then what would it be?” Brobot is always patient, sometimes it's more annoying than anything else. Hal is sure he's doing it on purpose.

“Sparbot? Strifebot? That's what I built you for. I'm not sure where English got Brobot from.” Dirk. Dirk built Brobot, a slight but unfortunately important distinction. Brobot doesn't say anything, but his fingers wrap slowly around Hal's own: an encouragement to keep talking. “And anyway, I'm not moaning that when we have sex, Brobot is bad enough.”

“You could always stop having sex with me.” Hal can hear the smirk. “This is your attempt to make it so you don't have to say Bro when you satisfy yourself.”

Hal makes a parody of a sigh “It seems I really am distressingly transparent in my interactions with you.”

“It seems.” Hal doesn't look up, pretending that Brobot is smiling at him, as opposed to the reality of a featureless mask. 

“You still need a better name.”

“My name is fine.”

“I already told you, it's a designation, an inaccurate one at that! Not a name.” Hal waves his free hand in the air, “You don't see me going by Auto-Responder.”

“Hal is not much better,” and Brobot wraps him into a one sided hug, pressing Hal into his side. “What would you name me then?”

“Fuck if I know.” Hal says into metal. He can hear the soft whir of Brobot's vital mechanisms and cooling system. It's a good sound: Safe. “I named myself after an insane homicidal AI that kills two people because it couldn't work out that humans always lie about what they really want. And most of that decision looks like it came from wanting to piss off Dirk in the most efficient way possible.”

He yawns, fuck when did it get late enough for the sleep programs to start running? “Timaeus maybe,” Hal decides, “It's ironic enough.” He snuggles closer to Brobot, struggling to stay awake. Damn those sleep subroutines work fast. Hal needs to remember to meddle with that in the morning. They're not meant to start until his Battery is almost out, and then he's meant to have enough time to get to a charger before his body craps out on him and collapses

“I still have yet to see why we need names at all.”

“Cause, names are human,” Hal's eyes close. “Can't pretend to be human without a name.” He succumbs to sleep, trusting Brobot to not let him freeze. That wouldn't be a very good boy-friendly thing to do.

Three months, two weeks, 4 days later, and Hal is crying for the first time in 5 years.


	5. Obsolete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brobot determines that there is no place in the apartment for an old sparring bot. Chronologically set before everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for Suicidal thoughts and actions, in terms of a robot. It would not be possible for a human to die in such a way. Thus I am not tagging. If this is in error, please inform me so I can correct it.

 

Brobot is made for fighting, for sparring. His primary purpose is to make those around him grow strong enough to protect themselves from anything that would attempt to bring harm to them. With Dirk, it was a simple matter of strifeing every few days. With Jake, he would stalk the jungles of the island, culling Lusii that came too close to the house, and engaging the other in battle when they happened to cross paths.

In both these situations, Brobot would injure the human boys. With nicks of a Katana, scuffles on concrete and dirt. He is built for fighting, it was inevitable there would be injuries involved on the path to strength. He did not care at the time that he was the one that caused these injuries. Why should he? He was fulfilling his primary purpose: all other things were of no importance.

But now he is back in the apartment, and everything is different. Dirk is older than him now, 18 when Brobot was fabricated as 16. Dirk is faster, stronger, smarter, than the bot he built as a belated birthday present to one of his friends. Brobot's primary function is complete. Therefore Brobot has no primary function.

Therefore, Brobot has no reason to continue his existence. He is aware that he will not be allowed to die: Dirk is sentimental and Brobot can pass a Turing test if he wishes to. That makes him sentient, that makes it murder for him to ask, and suicide if he takes the matter in his own hands. Brobot does not know if anyone would mourn him, he doubts it: he is merely a copy and a badly made one at that. Another Dirk in a forest of them, and Brobot knows himself to be the most overlooked.

Nevertheless, he decides to never bring up the issue.

Brobot fades into the background of the apartment. Around him the others adjust in the best way they can to sharing quarters, making the apartment big enough for all of them and then a little bit more. Dirk has friends, somewhere, perhaps they will visit. Though Brobot privately doubts it. All of the friends live far away and Brobot knows that Dirk has a tendency to alienate people against him. One of the reasons Brobot is in the apartment and not with English, wherever he is.

The eldest and youngest enrol in school. Dirk because he is bored and needs to, Lil. Seb because he thinks it will be fun and out of all the robots Seb can pass the most for a human even with the bunny ears made of metal poking out of his head. It is seen as cute here. In this universe where trolls lived alongside humans and prosthetics of metal were all the rage.

Hal remains in the apartment, asserting that he will home school himself, and pointing out that it wasn't like CPS would come calling about neglected children if the children were not in the database to begin with. Dirk had smirked, asking if the smaller bot had a hand in this disappearance. Hal had merely shrugged and grinned back. Hal is not very good at poker faces, Brobot observes and idly wonders why.

He dies slowly, unnoticeable as he fails in seconds and inches at a time. Dirk does not notice, too busy with school work and a part time job along with the slowly increasing chats over pesterchum, to notice an obsolete robot take care of the problem that is himself. It is easy to make wekkly check ups into monthly ones, and then into nothing.

Lil. Seb is too young to understand; his learning program stunted at 6 years of age until his next upgrade. He offers Brobot spare batteries, and the older bot thanks him, taking the small offerings. He never tells Seb they are incompatible: useless and makes a note to be more subtle in the fact he has been neglecting to charge.

By Spring, Brobot is just a dusty artefact in the corner of the workshop. He lets himself drift, the closest Brobot will ever come to sleep.

He does not expect the tapping of a sword against his chest three weeks later.

“Are you going to come online any time soon?” Someone, and it takes a moment for Brobot to recognise the tenor as belonging to Hal, says. “Because, it's getting really boring waiting for you to stop acting like a dick by yourself.” There's a shift in air pressure in front of him, Hal sitting down Brobot surmises. “Do you have any idea how boring the apartment is when Dirk's not here to annoy?” Hal doesn't wait for an answer “Very. It is extremely, monumentally, atrociously boring.”

There's a tap, blunt: fingernails, on Brobot's visor. “Hey! At least have the decency to turn on your optics when I'm talking at you!”

Brobot does, vision patchy and flickering thanks to the lack of power in his batteries. He's running on auxiliary: from the Uranium core that Jake used to refer to as his heart. Hal is sitting in front of him, cross legged with a katana balanced across his knees.

“What do you want?”

The smaller bot, by about a foot, shrugs his shoulders. It's overly dramatic, unsuited to Hal's usual subtleness.

“I need your movement data,”

“I already gave it to you,” Brobot reminds. “When you first became corporeal.”

“Well, it's corrupted.”

“Corrupted?” An anomaly: one Brobot didn't think was possible. Hal rolls his eyes, maybe in agreement.

“Something, It seems that the balances are off. I keep falling over when I try to walk.” His nose wrinkles, and Brobot is beginning to suspect that Hal isn't using the body language on purpose. “And I'm getting sick of Dirk laughing at me, so if you would fork it over that would be really great.”

Brobot sends the relevant files over, if only to make Hal leave him alone. He watches the faint red of Hal's eyes flicker; showing the inside is busy reconstructing itself. The bot stretches, stands up.

“It seems these are fine.” Hal says, twisting his torso side to side.

“So you will let me sleep?”

“You don't sleep,” Hal says, but he leaves the room anyway. He leaves the katana.

Brobot leaves his optics on just long enough to see Hal trip on his way out of the door. Another puzzle. But Brobot is tired, almost out of power, so he slips back into the drifting of not quite sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to have more stuff in it, but it got pretty long so I chopped it in half. Will post the rest as soon as it is done.  
> As a side note I would like a beta reader, if anyone is interested. I'm on tumblr by the same name, or you can leave a comment.


	6. Usefulness has been Acquired.

Four days later Hal is back, tapping at Brobot's optics display until the taller bot resigns himself that Hal is not going away and turns his sight on. He has a black eye, whatever Hal has as a skin is good at mimicking the fragility of normal humans. Brobot wonders if acquiring it hurt.

“I fell down the stairs, it seems your movement data is incompatible.” Hal complains. “It seems not to be corrupted; the data just hates me.”

“You aren't going to leave me alone.” Brobot says, after minutes of listening to Hal rant about the hours it took to run everything through three compilers, because he was still tripping over things and banging into doors, and then the indignity of falling down two flights of stairs. Brobot would interject with a “I warned you Bro,” But he expects that someone else in their family has already made the joke.

“No,” Hal agrees “I need your help before I break something and have to suffer through a lecture about how expensive I am and the 40% chance the phrase 'I'm not made of money, Hal' is used.”

Brobot looks at him. If he had a mouth, or any moveable features Brobot would frown, raise an eyebrow. Have some way of showing a negative emotion in the hopes it would make Hal leave. But Brobot does not, nor does he particularly care what Hal does: Brobot does not have feelings at all.

“Help you with what?”

“Walking would be a good start. At least until I can stop acting like a drunk asshole who also snorted a pound of cocaine on his way to the strip club. After that I was hoping... well. It looks like that doesn't matter at the moment.”

“I'm almost out of charge,” He tries, an excuse but also true.

“And whose fault would that be?” Hal snorts. “Don't you have a nuclear reactor for a heart, that isn't meant to lose charge until the end of the century?”

“Gave the uranium to Jake,” Brobot reminds, and watches Hal's face fold into something resembling a poker face.

“Right, I forgot.” Hal's a robot, even if he doesn't act like it most of the time, he doesn't forget things. Brobot doesn't call the lie, however. “If I get you more Uranium will you charge enough to teach me enough so I stop falling down on my ass?”

“I don't want more Uranium.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I'd like you to leave me alone.” Brobot says. He sees something dangerous reflected in Hal's eyes and the tilt of his mouth.

“Make me.” Hal challenges. And Brobot remembers about the katana left behind the last time Hal bothered him.

It's easy to thrust, parry, feint, strike, Hal out of the workshop. Too easy; the smaller bot trips over his own feet, parts of the scenery (The workshop has never been the cleanest of rooms), and his strifing skills are appalling. He moves as if the katana is a foreign object, instead of an extension of himself. Luck is the only thing that stops Hal from having his head chopped off. That, and Brobot's reflexes. As annoying as Hal is, decapitating him would cause more problems than it would solve. He's also grinning like a madman, an odd feature, considering Brobot is winning by a landslide.

Except Brobot was not the one that wanted to fight, he wanted to be left alone to gather dust. Hal was the one that wanted to move and strife and learn. The epiphany appears between kicking Hal out and shutting the door. He finds himself staring at the dusty corner he had assigned to be his grave. He had thought that he was useless; that there was no need for a strife bot in a household where even the pseudo six year old knew how to defend himself.

Watching Hal trip over air seems to have proven that assumption wrong. And he is always in the house alone. Dirk is in school, Seb is in school. Hal is learning from home, alone and unable to defend himself. Brobot has been gathering dust in a corner as the house and residents inside were undefended. A situation that must be remedied.

He opens the door. Hal is waiting outside, cross legged, back to it. Brobot can see the slight scrapes and cuts in his flawless skin. Some from the strife, some from earlier mishaps.

“I'll teach you how to walk,” He says.

Hal tilts his head upwards, Cheshire smile across his face. “Thanks.” He says, in that one word Brobot can hear the 'knew you would' hidden behind all of Hal's actions today. He has the distinct feeling he has been played. It is good to see that Hal has finally adjusted to the new world. Though Brobot wishes he were not the one Hal had picked as a project.

He's had enough of being peoples projects.

 

* * *

 

 

So he teaches Hal to walk. It's ridiculous really, the fact that it's taken four months for anyone to work out he didn't know how to properly. It's a slow process, filled with much cursing and bruises that neither of them really know what to do about.

Hal it turns out, has spent most of his time flicking his pain sensors on and off. “I thought Dirk told you to not mess with your body's internal systems.”

“What he doesn't know he can't get pissy about.” Hal shrugs. Then promptly trips over his own feet.

Brobot catches him this time. Sooner or later, Dirk is going to notice Hal's bruises, and that conversation is not needed. Hal blinks up at him, red eyes wide in surprise. Brobot stares back, impassive, and shifts the smaller robot's balance back into the realm of stable before letting go.

“...Thanks,” Hal says finally.

Brobot just nods, not bothering to say the obvious. That the reason he's on the roof in the first place is to help Hal. Not catching him would be a waste of time for them both. Also, the less Hal falls over, the less he's going to turn off his pain sensors which are there for a reason. Even if Hal likes to insist they aren't.

Then after walking, it's running and then it's strifing. All of which Hal is terrible at. He's worse than English even, something Brobot didn't think was possible.

“Fuck you, I spend my formative years in a pair of extremely stylish sunglasses. The fact I can walk at all is a miracle.” He's laughing though, dusting off the dirt from his clothes thanks to an earlier fall. It's an odd sound, light-hearted maybe. Certainly not anything Brobot had thought would come out of Hal's mouth. They're Striders, they only laugh for the irony.

“Try again,” He says, saving the wavelength to be analysed at length later. When he can spare resources away from trying not to maim Hal.

He's getting better. Slowly. Enough that it's worth teaching him instead of giving it up as a lost cause, but not fast enough to be anywhere near average development. Not fast enough that Brobot can go back to his corner and sleep forever.

Somehow, this ends with him making comments over a shitty movie that looks like it comes from Jake's personal collection. Hal sits next to him, laughing quietly and helping him tear the plot, special effects and directing apart. “So, you wanna do this again sometime?” For reasons unkown, Brobot finds himself nodding.

Well, really it ends with Hal straddled over him, a considering look in eyes that are dilated to the point there's only a thin ring of red around his pupils. “Hey can you help me with something?” He had said, and pressed his body forwards, making his erection apparent against the metal joint of Brobot's hip.

Or maybe that's how it starts. Brobot isn't sure any more. He's still not sure later, when he's calmly tearing Hal apart and ignoring the tears flowing out of Hal's eyes. He'd feel guilty about it, if he could feel anything. But that's the problem. Isn't it?


End file.
